Supremacy
by ally.enchantress
Summary: Crossover w/ Law & Order. What starts out as a simple case of an authority-hating murderer turns personal when the killer gets a little too close to one of the crew. Saving someone is tough when there's no ransom in the bargain.
1. Special

**Hey, let me know what you think of this. I've got more chapters ready, but I need to see the reaction before I humiliate myself with more. So, review for me if you want more, tell me kindly if you don't.**

**Basically, this is my first crime-fic. Homicide and SVU cooperate to find the murderer who hates authority. When an abduction hits way too close to home, the race to find the killer becomes all the more important.**

**Things to consider: Merritt Rook is not the perp because he is dead. Elliot and Olivia are not in a defined relationship. If you're a shipper who rolls that way, feel free to interpret. If not, run with it. Connie and Mike haven't established their relationship, but I want them together. This is not a slashfic.**

**Disclaimer: All things Law and Order belongs to Dick Wolf. I own my stories, not the characters in it.**

**___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

**Unknown Location**

**Manhattan, New York**

**Unknown Time**

Why he left that stupid fan in this hellhole was beyond her.

The handcuffs restrained her wrists as she instinctively huddled into herself at the constant wind. She was curled up as best she could on the filthy cement floor, the dress she had been wearing ripped and useless. Every tear she possessed had already trickled down her cheeks and formed a puddle beneath her head. Were she not lying on the only spot on the floor that was warm with her body heat, she would move her face.

For the 2069th time since her kidnapping, she prayed.

"Dear Lord," she whispered, her chapped lips sending shocks of pain to her brain. "Please get me out of here. I've tried and tried to bring something positive out of this, to think of the less-fortunate, but it's really not working. God, I'm cold, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm lonely. You tell me in the Bible that You're always with me, but I ask You for human contact." Any human contact, even _him_, would be better than this unceasing sense of abandonment she was drowning in now. "Please get me out of here, God. Please let them find me. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen."

She heard footsteps on the wood above her and whimpered pathetically. She heard the door creak open and her eyes closed. He approached and knelt beside her. His hand threaded its way through her hair. A shiver wracked her body, and he slapped her across the face. Clamping her lips shut, she remained perfectly still, her cheek scarlet and burning.

Warm fingers trailed from her hair to her face, tracing her cheekbones, her forehead, her lips. She just barely held back a shudder of revulsion and stayed immobile as his hands slid up her arms to the cuffs and tightened them a little bit more.

As the metal bit into her skin, she tensed involuntarily and her fingers jerked in pain. She felt his fist connect with her chest, heard something crack, and her voice emerged in a keening wail. Darkness gathered around the edges of her vision, fighting the agonizing pain for dominance. She kept her eyes locked on his face, determined to be able to identify him in a lineup if—when—she was found. Her body jackknifed from a punch to her stomach, and she lost the fight to stay conscious.

**27****th**** Precinct**

**Manhattan, New York**

**12:30AM**

Detectives Lupo and Bernard were exhausted. They'd busted their asses for two days straight to get James Struckoff in jail, and, just when they'd packed up to go home, Lupo's phone rang. There was a murdered woman on the shore of the Hudson River, and Homicide was investigating.

"Go get the details," Van Buren ordered, "and then we'll talk sleep."

So, groaning and cursing, Bernard took the wheel and drove out to the scene. Lupo attempted to use the drive as a chance for a nap, but his partner jerked the steering wheel so sharply that he just accepted sleep deprivation as the inevitable. He reached for the radio and turned it on hardcore rock, doing anything and everything possible to stay awake.

When they got there, a black Ford was already parked at the scene. Whatever was going on, the detectives were too tired to care at the moment, so they just accepted the vehicle as an unexplained apparition of magical properties and ducked under the yellow tape to find their ME already talking to two people. One was obviously male, tall and muscular. The other had the proportions of a female. She was almost as tall as the man, and athletic lean. Both Lupo and Bernard acknowledged the fact that she was pretty, but they were more intent on why they were there in the first place.

The woman turned around suddenly, as if she'd heard their thoughts, and walked over to them with the grace of a cat. In her hands she carried two cups of coffee. "Here," she said, offering them each a cup and shaking the brown hair out of her chocolate-colored eyes. "We heard about the all-nighters you guys pulled to solve the Struckoff case, so I figured you'd need something to keep you awake."

After a moment of thought, Bernard accepted the coffee and took a sip, hoping the caffeine would take effect immediately. Lupo was still staring at the woman, trying to place her. "Who are you?" he finally asked.

She frowned. "You mean they didn't call you?" Their expressions remained confused. "Oh, I'm sorry, that explains it! Olivia Benson, Special Victims Unit. That's my partner, Elliot Stabler."

"Who called SVU?" Bernard asked, shaking Olivia's hand.

"The same people who called you," she grinned, "except they called us a few minutes after. We were told there was a rape victim who was being investigated by Homicide and they wanted us to share the case. They didn't tell you we were helping out?"

"Uh…no."

"Liv, I think you should hear this," Elliot called, coming to stand beside her. "Are you guys Homicide?"

Lupo nodded. "Cyrus Lupo, Kevin Bernard."

"Elliot Stabler." They shook hands.

"How'd you get here so fast?" Lupo asked.

Olivia smiled ruefully. "We were in the neighborhood, about two feet from a fun night with the rest of the squad when we got the call. Uh, can this wait until after the…?" she gestured vaguely in the direction of the body.

"Yeah," Bernard said. "So, what happened?"

"Indicator signs of rape, one bullet to the chest. So far, it looks like your typical rape-homicide. I'm actually not sure why they called you in."

The ME interrupted at that point. "I am," she said.

All four detectives turned to look at her. "Do tell."

"The MO matches one from your Jenkins case a few months ago."

"Mr. I Hate Authority? How?"

Olivia looked down at the body again. "Haven't you seen her on TV before?"

The Homicide detectives reevaluated the woman on the ground. "She's that CEO's fiancé, right? What's his name…"

"Civitelli. Mickey Civitelli, the CEO of AmerInc," Lupo supplied for his partner

"You mean the gas station that's on every street corner?" Olivia asked. "AmerInc Oil?"

"Didn't you see the news last night?" ME Rodgers said.

"Last night, we were on our way to a very pleasant evening with our coworkers. That was"—Elliot checked his watch—"about a half hour ago."

"Okay, the night before."

Elliot thought. "Yeah, I think I saw that. So, her name is…McLaughlin. Jessica McLaughlin, right? She was supporting her fiancé because he's raising gas prices again and the public wasn't happy."

Olivia stared. "How did you find time to watch this?"

"Well there's no fun in going to sleep as soon as we get off work."

She stared at him for a moment. "Besides waking up, you mean. Anyway, we're sharing. So, how do you guys want to run this?"

Frowns appeared on both Lupo and Bernard's faces. "Why don't we stick close? Four minds are better than two." Bernard asked.

Elliot nodded. "You want to stay at our precinct? It's closer to the crime scene."

"Deal."

"Hey, El, you better come see this!" Olivia and Lupo had wandered off, letting their partners haggle, and were now standing by Jessica McLaughlin's purse. Olivia was holding it in her gloved hand, staring at a drawing on the side, clearly done hastily in permanent marker. As Elliot and Bernard got closer, they could see it was a sheep circled with a slash through it.

"Isn't that Merritt Rook's sign?" Elliot asked.

Olivia nodded distastefully. "I think so, but Rook's dead."

"Copycat?" suggested Elliot.

"Or something," she agreed.

The Homicide detectives were completely bewildered. "Uh," Bernard dared to venture on what seemed to be a touchy topic, "mind explaining who Merritt Rook is?"

"Was," Olivia replied shortly. "He's dead."

"What happened?" Lupo asked.

Elliot took over. "Rook hated authority because a doctor accidentally killed his wife and newborn. Remember the pillow fight in Times Square a year ago?"

"Yeah…"

"He was responsible. We went to Grand Central to pick him up, he kidnapped Olivia." Olivia crossed her arms. "Went to get her back and succeeded, but when we took him outside, he blew up the building he was in and took off into the lake."

With the story complete, the four detectives canvassed the scene one more time and, finding nothing but the copycat sign, left for the 16th precinct.

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**I really really wanna go to bed, so if you want more, review for me!**

**Donut, please!**

**~ally**


	2. Sharing

**So, I have these mini-mirrors on my bedroom door, right? And these mirrors are stuck to my wooden door with Scotch tape. Well, there is one little mirror who apparently doesn't like it up on the door, flaunting its beauty in the nonexistent sun, and it continues to try and peel off my door without me noticing. Does it think I'm stupid or something? I'm not stupid! I just happen to be entirely convinced the SVU gang is real, and we're like BFFs and all. That's not crazy, is it?**

**School's out and I can spend more time with my lovely detectives (who are all here with me right now, watching me write this!) and write about the adventures they have in the labyrinths of my mind. I can't wait for the season finale! If you don't mind me theorizing, the unnamed voice sounded like Dale Stuckey (aka bing-bang-bong guy). He killed Donnelly, who Elliot is carrying in that one scene we see. He knocks Elliot out, maybe O'Halloran too, and puts Elliot in a chair. When Olivia comes to save Elliot, Stuckey's the one with the gun. Dale, annoying little fellow that he is, does all this because he feels underappreciated (meaning not appreciated at all) by the SVU family.**

**ME: Liv, was I right?**

**OLIVIA: No.**

**FIN: No.**

**MUNCH: Yep.**

**ELLIOT: No comment.**

**ME: Come on, guys, I asked for Liv's opinion, not yours!**

**MUNCH: You just think you said that, Kate. It's all a conspiracy!**

**ALL: Shut up, Munch!**

**FIN: What's with the penname, anyway, girl? There's no 'ally' in your name.**

**ME: Story I wrote for my friends depicted me (allie), Caity (ally), and Cortnee (jordan) as friends who doubled as enchantresses. Hence, you get ! Voila.**

**OLIVIA: Parlez-vous francais?**

**ME: Oui, mais mes amis ne parlent pas francais. Est-ce que nous parlons anglais?**

**EL: Translation?**

**ME: Do you speak French? Yes, but my friends don't speak French. Can we speak English?**

**Anyway, I can't wait!**

**Disclaimer: Because I obviously need a shrink who is very good at what he/she does, I don't have the mental capacity to own the SVU characters. I merely have the ability to write what I consider wonderful stories about them, borrowing them for my own nefarious purposes and returning them relatively unscathed (although sometimes I hide them in my closet to keep the nightmares away. Something about having the SVU squad protecting me with their guns and intelligence is comforting, wouldn't you say?) to Dick Wolf when I'm finished. Okay, Dickie, you can take the gun away from my head now. I've said what you told me to say. Yes, I know I said I hid them in my closet. No, of course I wasn't being truthful. That would result in you putting a bullet through my permission to use them.**

**___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

**Unknown Location**

**Manhattan, New York**

**Unknown Time**

The first thing she acknowledged when she came to was that she had a broken rib. She had a broken rib and it hurt like hell.

Second, her head was throbbing.

Third, she needed nourishment. Her stomach needed food, preferably tilapia with sundried tomatoes and spinach and linguini, and her aching throat needed water.

And fourth, she really wanted to get the hell out of this awful place.

For one minute, she decided to allow herself to make a list of everything she wanted to do when she got out of here. Anything to stop herself from focusing on her stupid rib. She wanted a shower to clean the scum from her hair and skin, she wanted million-dollar Italian food and a good bottle of wine, she wanted to brush her teeth, she wanted to get out of the fancy dress she was in, and she wanted to see this bastard cooling his heels in jail.

"Honey, I'm home!" he called. She rolled her eyes at the bad sitcom line. Down he came to reintroduce her to the living hell she was experiencing. There were a whole lot of rules he had for her. She had to stay perfectly still when he was with her, unless he told her otherwise. She could not ask for food or water. When he provided her with Chinese takeout once a week, she had to eat every scrap. When he brought her a water bottle once every two days, she had to drink every drop. She had to obey his every command. She could not injure him in any way, either by punching, kicking, or biting.

"Hey, love. How was your day?" He laughed boisterously, setting her teeth on edge. "I have news on your friends. Do you want to hear it? Nod yes or no."

She nodded.

"Well, your detectives took a suspect in for questioning today. They all looked ready to tear him apart. It's too bad they were wrong, isn't it? Yes or no."

"Yes," she whispered, the word scratching her dry throat and cracking her parched lips.

"Those lawyers…what were their names? Jack McCoy and Michael Cutter, right? Yes or no."

"Yes."

"They spent the whole time in the 16th precinct looking very stressed out. Cutter in particular. What do you call him…Mike?"

He had not told her to say anything and he hadn't magically been put in a full-body cast, so she stayed silent.

"He went for lunch at 12:37. He bought a cheeseburger and a Caesar salad. He put the salad at the place across from him at the two-person table he took. He ate the cheeseburger but never touched the salad until he threw it away. Doesn't that just melt your heart, darling? Doesn't that make you want to hold him in your arms and thank him? Do you want to tell him you miss him, Connie? Answer me!"

"No."

He smacked her across the face, making her cry out. "No, what?" he bellowed.

She bit her lip against the pain. "No, Papa."

That was the last rule she had been given. Unless directed otherwise, even though she was no daughter of his, she had to answer his every question: 'Yes or no, Papa."

**16****th**** Precinct**

**Manhattan, New York**

**1:45am**

"So," Olivia said, "allow me to give you the grand tour." She turned in a circle. "Voila. A few things you might want to remember: Fin and Munch will hurt you if you touch their desks. Do not, under any circumstances, bring up JFK, Watergate, or anything else relating to the government in Munch's presence. And, unless you have a death wish, walk a block to Starbucks and never drink the sludge my coworker calls coffee."

Lupo laughed. "He and Bernard will get along just fine, then. Do we have desks, or are we sharing yours?"

The female detective grinned. "I don't know about Elliot, but you can share mine for the time being. Maybe we can set up something in an interrogation room for all of us."

Bernard closed his cell phone and walked over to his partner. "Lupes, I called Van Buren to update, and I left messages for McCoy, Connie, and Mike." He stifled a yawn, but Olivia noticed anyway.

"Why don't you guys go home and get some sleep while we get started? We'll call you if we find anything."

Needing no further prodding, the Homicide detectives left.

Elliot sighed. "Nice guys. So what do you make of the sheep?"

"Oh, you mean Elliot?" Olivia smirked. "I still can't believe he named that thing after you…Although, if you look close enough, he kinda has your eyes…"

Her partner threw a pen at her, which she caught deftly and placed in her pocket. "Aww, c'mon, Liv, that was my favorite pen!"

"Then you shouldn't have thrown it at me," was her reply. "Maybe you'll get it back if you find something. So, who would have cause to murder a prominent CEO's fiancé when they could have gotten so much more with a kidnapping and ransom?"

"Someone with a grudge?" Elliot suggested, still mourning the loss of his pen. "A fired employee? An unsatisfied customer?"

Olivia snorted. "We'll be looking through a whole lot of people if that's the case. I think it's something more personal…" She pondered this for a second. Elliot got the whiteboard.

"Scorned girlfriend? Was he married?"

Shrugging, Olivia flicked on her computer. "Yes, he was," she said after a moment. "Charlotte Delaney Civitelli, also called CeeCee. They were married for ten years before he filed for divorce."

"Why?" Elliot asked.

Olivia scanned the profile before her. "It doesn't say. They did, however, spend months arguing over custody and child support for their seven-year-old daughter Melissa."

"Who got custody?"

"Charlotte," she said, "but Mickey raised her after Charlotte's apartment was deemed unfit for a child. What I can't figure out is why the judge gave Ms. Delaney custody in the first place if he was just going to take it away."

Elliot felt a premonition coming on. "What if… Liv, what if Mickey set it up so that Charlotte would be considered incapable of raising Melissa? He could have messed up her apartment somehow, made her look like she was a bad mother, and then gotten custody by default."

"Would that work?" she inquired, sitting down and resting her chin on her hands.

He nodded. "If Kathy ever tried to do that to me, I know that would make me mad."

"Well, yeah, but would you kill her?"

"If I was an emotionally volatile woman, maybe."

Olivia pretended to be offended. "Elliot Stabler, that was stereotypical. Women aren't usually that emotionally volatile unless they're…" Her eyes widened as the possibility set in.

"Unless she was pregnant," Elliot finished. "Is there anything saying Charlotte Delaney had another baby?"

She searched. "Umm… no, actually, but she did remarry six months after the divorce. She now goes by Charlotte O'Hara now."

"What if the baby died?" Elliot suggested.

"Spontaneous abortion?"

"Yeah. He found out she was seeing another man, found out she was pregnant, and divorced her, taking Melissa for brownie points."

Olivia pulled her partner's pen from her pocket. "Detective Stabler, you have just earned the…uh…Favorite Pen Award!" She placed his pen back on his desk with a flourish. "Congratulations."

She looked on as he picked up the pen almost tenderly and put it back in his pen holder.

"Out of curiosity, why do you like that pen so much?" she asked.

Elliot smiled. "Eli picked it out for me when he and Kathy were shopping a week ago."

"Aww!" Olivia smiled at the thought of Eli sticking out his little hand and grabbing that pen and saying, "Dada." She loved that little boy to death, and Elliot knew it. "So, what kind of father," she teased, "would throw his son's present at the wonderful partner who helped deliver that same baby only months before?"

Elliot rolled his eyes. "Go get some sleep, Liv. The deprivation is making you senile."

She scoffed but headed for the crib anyway. "You wish!" she called over her shoulder.

**______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

**Those stupid mirrors are at it again.**

**Any opinions you may possess, including how to get the copyright out of Dick Wolf's hands and into my own, would be appreciated. OW! Just kidding, Dickie, gosh! Okay, okay! Sorry! Don't hit me with the copyright papers again, that's just cruel. :(**

**Donut!**


	3. Storytime

**Okay, first of all, I just thought I'd clarify something here. I don't know what the overall consensus is, but some people are under the impression that Liv is the one who has been kidnapped. Uh, well, I was _going_ to do that, but there are so many out there like that....Sorry to disappoint, really, but Connie is the one you're looking for. She was abducted, not Olivia. I do apologize for the misunderstandings.**

**Mr. Wolf, please remove that stupid gun from my head. Direct it somewhere.......Oh no, not at my computer! PLEASE! Don't shoot my computer! the disclaimer's going in, I swear! Just give me a minute.**

**About those mirrors I was talking about earlier? I just took the two uncooperative ones down for now. I'll keep you updated. I'm about four days away from the best three weeks of my summer so far! Of course, summer has just started...... but whatever.**

**Fair warning: the beginning of this chapter is kinda on the religious side. If you can't handle the Lord's Prayer, don't read it. From what I've seen of Connie, she's fairly religious, and therefore I can see her doing this in a situation such as the one she's in now. Once again, if you absolutely refuse to read anything religion-hinting, just skip the beginning. Of course, you'll be skipping an update on Connie's wellbeing, too......**

**Dick Wolf's Disclaimer: Because this girl won't put it up herself, I am doing it for her. Every publicly recognizeable character in this fanfiction belongs to me, Dick Wolf. Jessica McLaughlin, Charlotte O'Hara, Mickey Civitelli, and AmerInc are hers. To all you out there who are begging me for the rights, Kate wants them, too. To all of you, NO! You cannot have the rights to the Law and Order series', so stop asking! I am running out of money because I have to keep changing my phone number whenever one of you finds it, and not only does it run me dry but it confuses my friends, too! Yes, Kate, I have friends.**

**Kate's Disclaimer: Okay, fine. It's all Dick Wolf's. I own nothing but the aforementioned characters. To Dick Wolf, you're being mean. We have an honest goal that we strive for, and you have plenty of money with all the paraphernalia $ coming in that you won't share with our favorite actors. To everyone reading this, band together! We shall overcome! We shall overcome!**

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**Unknown Location**

**Manhattan, New York**

**Unknown Time**

Connie was crying. As much as she hated to admit it, the tough-girl lawyer was bawling like a baby. Everywhere she looked, all she could see was rank, black emptiness. Faces; Mike's, Jack's, Lupo's, Bernard's, sometimes Olivia's or Elliot's used to flash before her eyes like a crappy slideshow, but not anymore. Now she couldn't even pretend she wasn't alone. She was undeniably and impenetrably alone.

Her tears wetted her face and made the fan's air cold when it blew on her, but that didn't matter.

The stupid dress she'd cursed for the thousandth time today had gone from designer perfect to the most hideous thing in the world that was too ripped to even be considered underwear, but she didn't care.

Brown locks clung to her skin with a mixture of sweat, tears, and mud from his hands. Small potatoes.

None of that mattered because, whatever she did, she couldn't escape the crushing black oblivion she was drowning in. Questions spiraled in her mind. What time was it? How long had she been gone? Where was Mike? Had Lupo, Olivia, Bernard, and Elliot picked up anything on her disappearance? Were they questioning another innocent person, or had they picked up her actual abductor? And then there were the stupid things like: What color were the walls in this place? Was it a storage area with lots of boxes, or had he cleared it out specially for her? Where was he? Was he going to visit her any time soon?

At this point any company, even the idiot who'd stolen her away from a beautiful evening with Michael Cutter was better than this dark abyss of abandonment she was stuck in.

Wait, no. She wasn't alone. God was with her. She had to remember that God would never leave her. That was what had kept her from insanity: clinging to the belief that God had not left her, was still with her, would always be there for her.

"Good afternoon, sweetheart," her kidnapper's vile mouth spouted as he opened and closed the door. A brief flash of light seared her retinas and she bit back a louder wail. All she could do was cry. She knew he would punish her for making noise when she wasn't supposed to, but for the life of her she couldn't stop herself from sobbing.

She choked, her breathing hitched as she tried to calm down. That was a ridiculous sentiment, by the way. Calm down? How was she supposed to calm down? She was a hostage cuffed to the wall in an unknown basement, for goodness' sakes! Calming down was a little bit beyond her realm of abilities at the moment. Still, she tried, ever wary of his harsh hand as it neared her face.

"No, don't stop crying, love," he said. She coughed out another moan and registered in the faintest of light a video camera in the hand that her body was uncomfortably familiar with. The question in her eyes was answered. "I want them to see your tears, honey. I want to give them incentive to find you." He brought the camera closer to her face. "Say hi to your Mike for me, Connie."

She spat at him, and he put down the camera so he could smack her. She cried out, and he hit her again. "Scream, Connie!" he shouted. "Scream for your precious Mike, scream for Jack McCoy and his oh-so-wonderful connections!" He slapped her again, and she bit down hard on her lip to stay quiet. "Scream for the detectives you trusted with your life!" His foot connected with her already broken rib and her bloodcurdling shriek rent the air. "Tell them to save you, Connie! Tell them!"

He pulled her into a sitting position and forced the camera into her face. "Tell them," he murmured to her. "Tell them to back off the investigation. All of them are out, even the SVU detectives, or you die. Tell them that."

Connie inhaled painfully. "Mike," she whispered. "Jack. He says he wants the investigation over or…I die. Mike, don't you dare"—

Her head hit the concrete floor and she moaned in pain. As he trained the camera on her and began hitting her, she said the first thing that came to mind. What she had been taught to say whenever she needed help.

"Our Father," she intoned, "who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven. Give us, this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."

"Shut up!" he bellowed.

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

She felt blissful unfeeling begin to take over. She had to finish.

"For Thine is the Kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen."

She lost the fight to stay conscious just as the red light blinked off.

**16****th**** Precinct**

**Manhattan, New York**

**9:53am**

"Nice of you to grace us with your presence, detectives," Cragen snapped as Olivia and Elliot raced down from the crib to find Munch, Fin, Lupo, and Bernard standing there, along with two people they didn't know. The lieutenant of the 27th precinct was also there, Anita Van Buren.

Munch grinned. "What were you two doing up there?"

Olivia folded her arms and fixed the sergeant with a disdainful look. "Nothing that would interest you, John. Unless you are intrigued by the concept of dreaming. Sorry, captain, forgot to set my alarm."

The captain nodded, though still clearly displeased. "Detectives Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler, meet District Attorneys Connie Rubirosa and Michael Cutter. They work with Detectives Lupo and Bernard and, because of our lack of prosecutor in this office, will be handling all judicial transactions in this investigation."

Smiling, Olivia stepped forward. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Rubirosa," she said, shaking Connie's hand.

"Please, it's Connie," the ADA said with a grin. "Call me Ms. Rubirosa and I feel like I'm in court."

"Elliot Stabler," Elliot said as Olivia moved on to Mike. Connie nodded politely.

Lupo interceded at this point, drawing the room's attention back to the whiteboard Olivia and Elliot had marked up last night. "So we took a look at what you guys came up with, and incidentally forgot to call us about." His mouth twitched upward when Olivia shrugged unapologetically. "We did a little early morning digging on Charlotte O'Hara's new husband."

"Ronald Jonathan O'Hara, aka Ron Jon, is a retired officer of the navy turned entrepreneur. He owns a gun shop slash shooting training grounds upstate," Bernard took over.

"Any firearms in his house?"

"Yeah. Three. A Glock .45, a .32 Beretta, and a .22 SIG. The ME called and said a .45 killed Jessica."

"So we've got a connection, a weapon," Elliot said. "Do we have motive?"

Olivia stared at him. "You know, you are much more of a genius when you have incentive. Maybe I should steal your present back."

"Fine," Elliot relented. "Charlotte O'Hara lost her daughter because Mickey Civitelli set her up to look like she couldn't take care of her. When she lost O'Hara's child, she had to blame her lack of children on somebody, so she blamed Civitelli. She convinced her husband to kill her ex because he stole her daughter from her. Is that okay?"

"So we're calling Charlotte O'Hara the mastermind?" Cragen clarified.

The four detectives nodded in unison.

"Do we have any other evidence linking Ronald O'Hara to the murder?"

"Not yet."

The captain nodded. "Olivia, go talk to him. Remember, he's not a suspect until you have more evidence. See if he has an alibi."

"Lupo," Van Buren said, "Go with her. I want my squad represented as well."

The two detectives left without a word. Elliot and Bernard remained, each paying attention only to their respective CO's. "Why are _we_ talking to Mickey Civitelli?" Bernard asked. "Wouldn't the woman have a better effect?" He waited for Van Buren to answer.

However, it was Cragen who answered. "Because, detective, Olivia is connected to multiple branches of law enforcement, including the FBI. According to your case files, Mr. I-Hate-Authority targeted the people who would most affect the ones with connections, and his logic makes that women. If he's watching Civitelli and sees Olivia, he'll target her. If he is O'Hara, she'll know." He made sure Bernard was looking at him. It would be interesting to see how these four detectives worked together. They all had strong personalities, and they sure as hell wanted their CO to be the one calling the shots.

* * *

Olivia glanced over at Lupo again. In her opinion, just because he was driving didn't mean he couldn't talk. It was bad enough she wasn't being paired with Elliot on this case, but how was she supposed to work with someone she knew absolutely nothing about?

"So," she began, feeling stupider by the second, "like I said before, we were following your case, but we didn't catch all the details of the investigation. Why did Struckhoff have such a grudge against Jonah Santos?"

The wild-haired detective settled back in the seat Elliot always sat in and started talking. "Struckhoff was Jonah's intern of eight plus years. During that time, he became acquainted with Jonah's tendency to hang around parks and such, leading Struckhoff to believe that Jonah was a pedophile. So, after confiding in his cousin Lara how scared he was of this guy and how dangerous he was, he cut Jonah's wrists to make it look like a suicide."

"How'd you figure out it wasn't?"

"A suicide? The knife he used had no fingerprints on it. Apparently, in his haste to clean up all the evidence, Struckhoff not only cleaned his fingerprints off the knife but Jonah's as well." Lupo sighed. "Now my turn. What was that animal smugglers' case you worked?"

Olivia cocked her head. "It was a case. What do you want to know?"

"Well," Lupo said, "why did you guys keep it after you figured out it was just smuggling?"

Shifting to a more comfortable position in her seat, Olivia glanced at Lupo out of the corner of her eye. "We connected our vic's murder to a certain Al Capone wannabe with a tiger, who was murdered by someone with hyenas. My partner had already visited the owners of these hyenas and, not long after Al Junior's death, Elliot got a call about a job. So, he was officially undercover in an animal smuggling unit, trying to find the guy who killed our vic, because Junior's tiger DNA didn't match up. His did." She shrugged dismissively, doing her best to ignore the sudden warm, wet feeling on her hands, still on the steering wheel. She did not need to remember the rusty, salty smell of Elliot's blood. She didn't want to feel the cold asphalt against her knees.

"So what happened in the undercover gig?" Lupo pressed. "I heard something about a visit to the hospital?" He finally turned to look at her, eyes nothing but curious.

Mouth dry all of a sudden, she pondered the thought of pleading the fifth. In the end, however, her desire to get to know the mysterious homicide detective riding shotgun coupled with her belief that she could satisfy him with the short version outweighed her therapist's advice to avoid recalling painful memories. "El was supposed to pick up a monkey from the airport."

"So why'd he go to the hospital?"

"Because…" _Elliot in boxer briefs, answering the door…The fear on his face when he heard the furious knocking. Fear not for himself, but for her…Being thrown from his 'residence' with her shirt still not on…Hearing the shots echo over and over and over and over again in her mind and knowing in her heart that the target was Elliot…Seeing him lying on the ground, thinking he was going to die, knowing without a doubt that it was all her fault…_ Olivia swallowed the lump in her throat. "I accidentally blew his cover and he was shot when they found out."

Lupo surprised her then with a hand on her shoulder. "And you think it's your fault, Benson?"

She glanced at his hand for a moment but didn't make him remove it. "It is my fault, Detective Lupo. If I had stayed away like I was supposed to, everything would have been fine." Her face shut down, thinking that she didn't want to talk anymore.

"I thought you lost contact," Lupo commented. "You had to go."

"No I didn't," Olivia said with finality. "Now, if you wouldn't mind doing me a favor?"

"Depends on what you want."

She took her eyes off the road to pin him under her stare. "No more of that 'Detective Benson' crap. While we're working together, you can call me Olivia or Liv. Okay?"

Lupo grinned. "Well then, Olivia, I suppose, if 'Lupo' doesn't cut it for you, you can call me Cyrus."

Animosity gone, Olivia parked her car, recently redone to fix the dent caused by a falling body, and got out with her temporary partner to begin the first interrogation of what would turn out to be a very long case.

**_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

**Donut! S'il vous plait, mes amis!**


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